Rebecca
by jasmine105
Summary: Short story told from Rebecca Nevins' point of view of her relationship with Horatio Caine. Takes place during Season 3 of series.
1. Chapter 1

REBECCA

Chapter One

Let me be frank: I'm a woman who doesn't mince words. I know what I want. More importantly, I know how to get it - and I seldom make a false step. You don't achieve my record of successful prosecutions unless you're smart and sure of yourself. I've always been both.

So let me tell you how it was: I noticed him as soon as I moved to Miami and started working for the State's Attorney's Office.

He was hard to miss. He didn't blend in. It wasn't his style. Still isn't.

Let's put it another way: seeing Horatio Caine enter a courtroom is tantamount to seeing a brilliantly colored, tropical bird fly unexpectedly into your midst and settle itself gracefully atop the branch of some old tree – one in which dozens of dull, brown sparrows nest. So vivid was the force of his personality that it seemed to bleach the color from those around him, making them appear indistinct, rather like anonymous figures in sepia-tinged photos from yesteryear.

He has dash, that man - bright coppery hair, eyes the color of a summer sky, and a long, lanky body that he inhabits with assurance. All of that – then the voice. Rich, expressive; at times, arch and ironic.

And tender.

Yes, tender, as I later found out.

* * *

I liked what I saw as I watched him that first time in a courtroom. Still new to Miami and to the State's Attorney's Office, I sat that day at the prosecutor's table for purposes of observing the Miami Courts system in action.

The lieutenant had been called to give testimony on behalf of the State by one of my colleagues, Dick Crawford, and did so in a precise, matter-of-fact way. His hooded eyes zeroed in on the defendant, and never left the man's face as he answered the prosecutor's questions dispassionately. He was out to nail the man for the murder of his wife and child. The evidence his team had put together was irrefutable and damning. More damning was the gleam of contempt in his eyes and the resolution in his tense cheek as he locked his gaze on the soon-squirming defendant.

During a short break in the testimony, his eyes caught mine, but then passed on. For him, I didn't signify. Not then.

"I see you've noticed Horatio," commented Dick idly, once more by my side at the prosecution's table, and leafing through various papers in front of him.

"Pretty hard not to," I replied. "He seems... relentless."

Dick paused and looked up from his papers, briefly scrutinizing the man still seated in the witness chair. "That's a good word for it... relentless. He is that. When someone – or something – has violated his personal code of justice, he's unyielding. Think Gary Cooper in _High Noon_."

The reference escaped me – I was never much for old movies, particularly westerns – but I took his point. The lieutenant considered himself one of The Good Guys, those men who wore The White Hats, and who rode into town with shiny badges, their well-used guns slung low over their hips.

"He can be a prosecutor's best friend," continued Dick. "He can also be a big pain in the ass."

I looked at Dick, surprised. "How so?"

Dick leaned back in his chair. "When he first senses a suspect is guilty, he'll be knocking on your door, regardless of the hour, demanding the filing of charges, and always with a bagful of tricks - _evidence_, as he puts it. It all adds up in his quirky, scientific brain to a full-out charge of guilty, and he's determined to make _you_ see it that way."

"Well, that's good – isn't it?"

Dick grinned. "Ah, Rebecca – you're so young that at times you break my heart!"

"What the hell does that mean?" I asked, annoyed at the condescension in his voice. In the brief time I'd been working with Dick, I quickly became acquainted with the streak of unconscious chauvinism that underpinned his personality. I took exception to being labeled young - by it he meant naive, and I was anything but.

"Smooth your ruffled feathers, _Ms. Steinem_," he replied affably. "I mean no disrespect. Sure, it's good to have a guy on our side who cares about putting away for life slime like our friend over there." Dick waved a thumb briefly in the direction of the defendant, who sat sullenly in his chair, his eyes cast downward at the table in front of him while a female public defender whispered energetically in his ear. "Horatio will hunt a guy like that to the ends of the earth. He's got a saying: _We never close_. What he means is he never gives up. Never."

"Relentless," I repeated, pleased.

"Hmm... I'll remind you of that when the good lieutenant accosts you in hallways and outside the courtroom, often ringing you up all hours of the night, endlessly urging you to bring to trial a case that you don't believe his little bag of tricks can support.

"The problem with Horatio is that he thinks everyone should see things just the way he does. He doesn't understand the fine art of compromise; nor does he understand that on occasion you have to cut deals with the small fish in order to get to the sharks." Dick frowned. "Sometimes I get the impression he sees _us_ as the sharks - at the least, he views us as a necessary evil he has to contend with in order to get things accomplished. He has no love for us."

As the judge re-entered the courtroom, I continued to study the compelling lieutenant. I confess that at the time, I gave very little thought to what Dick said. I should have paid more attention.

It would have saved me a lot of heartache.

* * *

A year or so went by. I saw him often but hadn't yet had an opportunity to work with him. I was still getting my bearings in my new position, determined to be the best prosecutor the State possessed – in fact, I hoped to be the lead prosecutor some day. In furtherance of that goal, I kept my nose pretty much to the grindstone and continued to build a string of impressive wins. I was building a reputation, and it was a good one. I sometimes wondered if he'd heard of my successes, and what he thought of them.

From time to time, I'd pass by the lieutenant in and around the Court House. He'd briefly meet my eyes and nod, and then just as quickly look away. At first I felt snubbed. But, after a time, I began to realize his failure to maintain eye contact was just his way. He had a natural aloofness. He also seemed slightly awkward. That surprised me. So did the stories I heard about his unrequited passion for his dead brother's wife.

I'd heard the grapevine chatter. Cops and attorneys are great lovers of gossip; perhaps that curiosity and interest in the affairs of others is part of what makes us good in our jobs. Who knows? All I can say is there are no secrets in the law enforcement or justice community.

So, yes, I'd heard the idle talk about his sister-in-law. And also about his murdered brother, the dirty cop. It was hard to believe - a dirty cop related to Mr. Integrity (a nickname I'd assigned him in my fantasies - and, yes, I'd begun to have fantasies about the remote lieutenant). Could two brothers be so different? I suppose... I'd been brought up on Sunday School homilies regarding the nature of Cain and Able. Still, I found it hard to grasp.

Almost as hard as the whispered tales about his more-than-brotherly interest in Yelina Salas. The looks of longing had been commented on as had the tension and enmity between he and an officer with the IAB who'd begun seeing Ms. Salas. It made for delicious gossip among bored, work-load wearied colleagues in break rooms. As for me, anything concerning Horatio Caine was of interest. I think I was a little in love with him, even then.

It was ironic that it was the son of Detective Salas that afforded me the opportunity to finally and formally introduce myself to Horatio. The boy had been brought in on charges of murder - a vagrant had died as a result of a childish prank with paint guns, and the boy's companions gave a statement that it was Raymond Caine, Jr. who'd been the one who'd fired the gun.

* * *

"Lieutenant, I'm Rebecca Nevins of the State's Attorney's Office."

He glanced at me in the same way I might look at a troublesome fly: he was annoyed to see me. He'd hoped for more time before my Office began to investigate the charges against his nephew. I quickly laid out the State's view of the night's scenario, and he just as quickly cut me off at each turn. I was dismayed by his hostility. This wasn't the way I'd wanted my first meeting with him to go, but understood. This was family, not some unknown perp we were discussing. When he mentioned he was compiling evidence to support his nephew's innocence, my spirits rallied.

"You have exonerating evidence?" I asked, my tone hopeful. I didn't want to be the thorn in the lieutenant's side; if anything, I longed to remove any that might already exist.

He must have noticed the eager light that suddenly flared in my eyes at his words because he looked at me - _really_ looked at me - and a gleam of interest rose up in his own. "I will," he said, starting to turn away.

He paused suddenly and a small smile threatened to dispel the grim set of his mouth. "Stick around," he said, "I'm _full_ of surprises." And then he moved on.

_Stick around?_ I was determined to – perhaps on some level he realized that, even then.

He didn't see the slight smile that curled about my own lips at his words. I had no doubt but that he _was_ full of surprises... and I was anxious to uncover some of them.

Dick Crawford's words about Horatio's bag of tricks came suddenly to mind, and I wondered what evidence he was compiling that might exonerate his nephew. Whatever it was, I hoped it would be enough.

As I said, I wanted to please the lieutenant, not bring him down.

As it turned out, his nephew was exonerated, and the other boys' stories collapsed like a house of cards confronted with a draft of sudden, brisk air. I was glad not to have to file charges. As I left the Crime Lab, he looked in my direction, a slight smile and raised brows signifying, '_See, I told you_.'

I smiled in return – he was right. He was full of surprises.

* * *

That was especially true a few weeks later.

I was at the Miami-Dade Crime Lab and was caught up in a tense exchange of words with Rick Stetler of Internal Affairs. He was questioning the procedure of one of the Lab's night shift team, intent on persuading me that the evidence that had been presented to my Office on a high profile case was perhaps inadmissible thanks to the means in which the officer had obtained it. We'd been through all this before, and Stetler's refusal to let it go annoyed the hell out of me. As far as I could see - and I was pretty damned thorough - the female officer had followed procedure perfectly, and I didn't have time for Stetler's mean-spirited bullshit.

From the start of our association, I saw him for the petty tyrant he was and didn't appreciate being ensnared in his little games of one-upmanship. "Look, Sergeant, we've been through this multiple times. Your case isn't convincing – there's no reason to file charges against the officer or pull the evidence. Everything was done by the book. Why are you wasting my time with this?"

Stetler bristled. "Wasting your time? Is that what you call ensuring that we maintain a proper level of integrity as servants of the People?"

Exasperated, I shook my head. "Yes - wasting my time! When you can bring me conclusive proof to support charges of malfeasance, then we can talk. But until that time, Sergeant, I advise you to leave it alone. You want to waste your time and resources, then do so. However, do _not_ waste mine!"

I watched Stetler's eyes widen and his jaw clench. _Now, that's an angry man_, I thought, observing the effort it took for him to get his emotions under control.

"You'll regret this, Ms. Nevins," he said. He turned away and strode angrily down the building's sunlit corridor.

Before I could process what had just happened, a deep voice spoke up behind me. "My, my, Ms. Nevins... I do believe you've just made an enemy."

I recognized the rough, honeyed timbre of the voice and quickly turned around. It was him.

"Lieutenant Caine," I said, caught off-guard.

"Ma'am," he acknowledged, moving to stand in front of me. He nodded in the direction of the departing Stetler. "He's not a good enemy to have... I know from personal experience."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You might have tried a little diplomacy."

"You think I was undiplomatic?"

"You did accuse him of wasting your time." The smile widened. "That's what Rick does best... waste everyone's time on his personal vendettas. Even so, he's a bad one to have on your trail. Never one to forget an insult or a grievance, our boy, Rick. He's an annoying terrier; he'll be nipping at your heels every step of the way from here on out.

"You might consider finding a way to make it up with him."

"Thank you, no," I replied, just a bit irritated. "I'll take my chances with the truculent sergeant. No one tells me how to do my job, especially nasty little martinets who hope to gain self-advantage by manipulating the spirit of the law."

"You're a cool customer, aren't you?" he asked, nodding at me with approval. "Nothing much ruffles you, does it?"

I paused, debating whether to take a chance and then decided to gamble. "_You_ could... I suspect."

He looked momentarily startled, but then grinned. "Now _that_ could prove an interesting challenge."

"Interesting enough to explore over dinner this evening?"

He looked regretful. "It could – but not tonight."

Disappointed and embarrassed that I'd misjudged his intentions, I dropped my eyes. "Oh... well... I – I should be going." I started to turn away but was stopped by a hand that reached for my wrist and held it just briefly.

"Rebecca," he said quietly, "wait."

Confused, I simply looked at him.

"I have a commitment tonight – my nephew. Some school thing, father / son... I, uh, well, I step in for those things...

"I'd like that dinner though..." He tilted his head, looking at me intently. I felt the warmth rush to my face. _Could he see the naked interest in my eyes?_ I hoped not.

"How about Friday?" he asked.

"Friday... Friday is good." I turned away. I reached the elevator and looked over my shoulder. He was still looking at me, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

Responding in kind, I threw him a saucy smile just as the elevator doors started to close.

* * *

I did see him that Friday - but sooner than anticipated.

I'd received word that Horatio had arrested Steve Riddick, an unsavory little weasel who was being held on charges of murder. Unfortunately, the evidence Horatio was holding him on was not very strong, and I knew it would be dicey to put it before a judge. In my professional opinion, Horatio had to release the fellow until he had something more substantial to bring to the judge.

Determined to suggest to Horatio that he release Riddick and why, I made my way to the Crime Lab. Once there, I saw him engaged in a tense conversation with Yelina Salas. It was obvious from his posture that he was angry – not at her, but on her behalf. She was upset as well, trying to calm him down, trying to get him to back off. I'd overheard enough to figure out that Horatio was furious that she was trying to protect someone when his interest was in protecting her.

In turn, this made me irate!

Looking back, I realize I had no right to be. We weren't a couple. Hell, we hadn't even had dinner yet! Still... I'd already begun to take a proprietary interest in him. I wanted him. And I was determined to have him. Who was this woman - _this sister-in-law!_ - that she should wrest from him such passion on her behalf?

I knew I should let them finish but I was irritated and not just a little jealous (and, if I can be honest, just a little insecure, too). So I interrupted, intent on making him notice me.

"Rebecca Nevins," I said, my brows raised, a none-too-graceful reminder to Horatio who _I_ was.

It was not a good move. I'd interrupted his conversation – and my reward for that was a cold look from him and a very formal acknowledgement of who I was. "...Of the State's Attorney's Office," he finished. "I'll be with you in a minute, please."

The formality of his tone iced me. Stung, I dropped my eyes and hung back as he continued with Yelina. _So_, I thought, _that's how you want to play it... like I'm just another colleague, no more, no less. Why? To spare Yelina?_

He was acting as if he didn't even know me! This, after flirting with me several days before... after agreeing to have dinner with me!

I swallowed my anger, watching as he leaned in close to Yelina and almost whispered, "To be continued... later."

_Later?_ That startled me... was he planning to meet her... later? Wasn't he having dinner with me? I watched as she frowned at him and then walked away.

When Horatio finally looked at me, I was ready to confront him: _Why the cold tone? Why did you act as if we'd never met before? Afraid your sister-in-law might learn we had more than a passing acquaintance?_

Instead, I held my tongue, recalling the stories that continued to circulate about his feelings for the lady.

_For God's sake, she was involved with Rick Stetler now. He needed to let it go! _

But... could he? I'd caught the glance of unguarded emotion on his face as he looked at her.

It angered me – made me wonder if there really was any chance of a relationship ever developing between us. I didn't know Yelina Salas, but I hated her!

Yes, I hated her... simply because he didn't.

For the moment, I bit back the hurt, angry words, swallowing them – and what a bitter, unsatisfying meal they made.

He looked at me inquiringly.

"You arrested Steve Riddick for murder," I said coolly. My intention had been to gently reason with him, suggest that for the good of the case he should let Riddick go until he had something more conclusive to hold him. In my anger, the desire to handle him gently evaporated. "I file this and the judge kicks it – it's a lose / lose."

He wasn't happy with me, that was clear. He held his temper in check, but barely. "You don't want a guy like that on the street," he said.

"Re-arrest him when you can bring me more compelling evidence."

I headed for the elevator. Behind me I could hear Horatio advise one of the detectives to cut Riddick loose. His tone was annoyed.

Tough. I was angry, but I was also right. There wasn't sufficient evidence to hold him... and I wasn't going to lose a case due to the overeager maneuvers of Horatio Caine.

**To be continued.**


	2. Chapter 2

REBECCA

Chapter Two

By late afternoon, my temper had cooled. Remorse followed quickly, and I regretted the quarrel with Horatio. What in God's name had possessed me? I'd flung my authority in his face, not caring at the time how rude or high-handed I sounded.

Wasn't it me who had christened him _Mr. Integrity?_ I should have guessed that he wouldn't take well the directive to cut Riddick loose. If I had been smart, I would have followed my first instincts, and taken Horatio aside, gently making him understand we needed to get something more concrete on Riddick, something that would stick. Horatio Caine is not an unreasonable man.

I think, in fact, that he realized we needed more – otherwise he wouldn't have given in, regardless of what I had to say. He's a resourceful man; if he had really believed he had enough evidence to hold Riddick, he would have found a way to subvert my directive. Horatio's not the type to acquiesce if he believes he's right. Perhaps if I'd taken a different tack, discussed it with him more gracefully, we might have avoided the rancor. He might not have been happy about releasing Riddick, but he wouldn't have been so angry with me.

My strength is supposed to be persuasion – knowing what to say, when to say it, and _how_. I wasn't blind! On some level, I must have realized Horatio was not a man to be dictated to. As I discovered that morning, it was the quickest way to alienate him. A funny thing, how quickly those warm blue eyes could turn to ice! In the heat of the moment, I made a miscalculation, and it was a big one.

A lesson learned – one didn't _demand_ that Horatio Caine do anything; instead, the wise woman _suggested_.

When I was a schoolgirl, my character was already formed. I did well in first grade and enjoyed the classroom. I remember being perplexed when my mother, after a parent / teacher conference, took me aside to have a talk with me. Apparently my teacher found me bright but bossy, and told my mother I had a bad habit of organizing the other children in the schoolyard and ordering them about during our childish games.

My mother – I was so different from that gentle, refined lady. I loved her greatly but couldn't emulate her genteel Chinese manners. Her way was not my way. No, I was my father's daughter. Like him, I was brash, bold, decisive. Nice qualities in a son. Perhaps not so nice in a girl, or so my mother thought. She would often gaze at me with despair, repeating what was to become a familiar litany: "Grace, Rebecca, grace! You must learn how to exhibit grace toward others... not go charging about like a bull in a china shop! Others have feelings too."

Guess things haven't changed much. I'm still organizing the 'schoolyard' and sometimes still too bullish. I like to get things done. I'm a leader. I'm direct. You know something has to be done? Well, you just do it. You figure out a plan of action and then you do it. That's my way. What does 'grace' have to do with anything?

Well, apparently a lot if you're dealing with a complicated man like Horatio. My mother would have known how to handle him!

Still, much of what is my way is his as well – and that's what attracted me to him. He's a leader. He gets the job done, he's intense about his work – and he's certainly no shrinking violet. During his career, he's been known to step on his fair share of toes to achieve his objectives.

Why is it that women must always be the ones to display 'grace'? What's wrong with saying what you think, what you feel, and moving right along with the business at hand? If only people were like the law: direct, to the point.

But let's face it: I'd mishandled Horatio. In my anger and childish petulance, I'd bungled things. And for what? The chance to express my annoyance at his too avid interest in his sister-in-law's well-being. Perhaps the stories I'd heard had affected me too much. Was I really that insecure? That self-indulgent?

I'd been terribly stupid! It was unlike me to make such a blunder... but he had that effect on me. He unsettled me.

Well, I wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Next time would be different!

_If_ there was one.

Would he call off dinner? Were things finished even before they had begun?

I hoped not.

I wanted him.

And, as I've said, I always get what I want.

* * *

Later that day I learned that Horatio had gotten the evidence he needed to take care of the weasel-like Riddick. I never doubted that the lieutenant would get his man nor secure the evidence needed to hold him. As I've mentioned, he's relentless – he never gives up. Or in.

I still wondered if dinner were on or off... it was an awkward situation, and I'd created it. Sighing, I cleaned up my desk and headed to the Crime Lab. I wanted to read the arrest report. I'd already placed a call to the judge. From everything I'd heard about the evidence, it appeared to be an open and shut case.

And, let's be honest, I wanted to test the waters with the lieutenant.

I ran into Horatio just as I was preparing to enter the building and he was departing. Not sure how to handle the situation, I pasted a tentative smile on my face.

"Ma'am," he greeted, nodding at me.

"Sir," I acknowledged. "Heard you got Riddick – and the gold. I told the judge to throw the key away on this guy."

He smiled. The blue eyes had lost their earlier iciness and were friendly again. Emboldened, I remarked truthfully, "I was worried you were going to cancel dinner tonight."

"That would _not_ be possible," he replied.

The deep timbre of his voice infused the simple words with feeling. He was flirting with me – and I liked it. I was flattered and pleased... still, I'd heard the unspoken 'but' in his voice.

"But?" I asked.

"Well, I need to push it back an hour."

My happiness dropped a degree or two on the sunshine thermometer. _Why did he need to push it back?_ I wondered. I then remembered his earlier remark to his sister-in-law. _'To be continued...' _he'd said._ Was this the reason for delaying dinner? _

In spite of an earlier resolve to disregard the stories about their 'friendship', I found the green-eyed monster once again perched comfortably upon my shoulder, and my usual self-confidence deserted me.

"Drinks with someone?" I asked, a little hurt. A little needy.

"No," he replied quickly and with warmth. "A victim... in the hospital. I've got to go see his wife."

I nodded, feeling one hundred percent better. _A victim in the hospital and his wife..._ yes, Horatio would do that. _Mr. Integrity. _I was ashamed; I didn't deserve this good man.

But neither did Yelina.

"In about an hour?" I asked. Not giving him a chance to demur, I quickly continued, "Okay, nine then. My place. I'll leave the door unlocked."

He raised his brows, and amusement caused the blue eyes to twinkle. "See you."

I smiled. "Yes, you will."

* * *

Looking backward in time, I wince with embarrassment when I think how eager I was for that night! Me – _the cool customer._ Isn't that what he had said about me?

But I wasn't cool – not when it came to him. No, when it came to Horatio Caine, I was Roman candles and shooting stars and Fourth of July celebrations on a heated summer's night.

Surprising that such a hot beginning could come to such an icy end. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I had spent a good deal of time that evening, doing this and doing that, getting ready for his visit. My long dark hair had been brushed until it gleamed, and my brown eyes were alive with anticipation. I'd dressed with special care, wearing a sleeveless, form-fitting red silk dress with flecks of gold throughout; its mandarin collar emphasized my long, slender neck. Glancing in the mirror, I was satisfied with the reflection that stared back at me: pretty, sexy, strong... and exotic.

I'd taken extra attention with my apartment as well, dimming the lights, placing candles throughout the rooms. I wanted to create a warm, intimate setting. When he walked through that door, I wanted him to feel like he was being eased into a warm, silken bath... indulged, relaxed... loose.

Uninhibited.

Something about Horatio reached out to me – even though I was hardly the nurturing type. Beneath the tough control were hints of deep passion. There was also something a little sad that took uneasy refuge behind the cool, dispassionate exterior he showed the world. I longed to free him from the emotional strait-jacket that seemed to bind him. Even this early in our relationship, I sensed he needed someone he could feel safe with, and open up to.

The idea of being the person who could both ignite and solace him challenged me. It also aroused me.

In truth, he stymied me. He was unlike any man I'd had previous experience with – and it put me off-balance. He reminded me of a Chinese finger trap, one of those children's toys in which one's forefingers are placed inside either end of a banded cylinder; the harder one pulls, the more securely the fingers are held.

That's what it was like to care about Horatio Caine. He was a trap, especially for a woman like me. Enigmatic, hard to reach. A challenge. And the more I struggled to understand him, the more he ensnared me.

It was a large part of his charm.

My thoughts concluded when the doorbell rang. I watched as the unlocked door slowly opened. It was nine o'clock, and my inscrutable suitor had arrived.

* * *

"Ma'am," he said, smiling, as he walked inside the apartment. Surprising me, he leaned forward and lightly kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you for the dinner invitation." He then stood back and just looked at me.

Flustered – I hadn't expected the casual kiss – I asked, "What's that?" and pointed to the white box tied with string that he held in his hands.

"This? Oh, this is just dessert. There's a little Spanish bakery I know... do you like churros? They make them best... There's a container of dark chocolate inside, too... you heat it up and drizzle it over the pastries."

Taking the box from him, I raised my brows. "Fried dough and chocolate sauce... I can feel the fat cells getting ready to launch an attack on my hips."

He grinned, and warmly looked me over from head to toe. "Oh, I don't know... from where I'm standing, I don't think you have need for worry."

"Chocolate sauce, huh? Never figured you for a lover of sweets."

"I'm sure there are a lot of things you never figured me for." His eyes glinted with sudden, teasing mischief. "Told you I was full of surprises... remember?"

I did, and suddenly wondered who would be removing _whose_ emotional strait-jacket that evening. I had thought I'd be the one in control of the night. With a fleeting kiss and one lousy box of sweet dough and chocolate sauce, the first advantage had clearly gone to him.

And he knew it.

He stood there, grinning at me. "Well, are you going to ask me to sit down, Rebecca? I'm pretty hungry..."

* * *

Dinner for the most part was full of lighthearted banter. We both relaxed and grew used to one another, talking first about our caseloads, and then moving on to other things.

I liked the way he looked at me, cocking his head to one side, leaning closer over the table, as if anxious to catch every word. He was a good listener. Well, he would be, wouldn't he? A good interrogator, too! Before I knew it, I had told him about growing up in San Francisco with an American dad and a mother of Chinese extraction.

"My dad was an attorney with a small firm in the Bay Area. He was a poor kid, put himself through college, then law school, all the while working at whatever jobs he could get. He's the textbook example of the self-made man."

"You sound proud of him."

"I am. He's smart. Things weren't easy for him but he was a hard worker. He used to tell me, 'Rebecca, the secret to success is this: show up every day.' Nothing fancy about that philosophy – just show up and do your job, and do it well. He did a lot of pro bono work in the Chinatown area."

"Is that how he and your mother met?"

"Mm hmm. She was the daughter of one of the restaurant owners in the area. Dad took on her father's case against an unscrupulous landlord. It was a small matter, but he said the first time he took a look at my mother, he felt he'd won more than just some petty civil suit. He liked to say he had sued his way into finding his soul mate." The tender memory warmed me. "He just worshipped her. Still does."

Horatio smiled. "Your eyes get very soft when you speak of your parents."

"Do they? Well, I miss them. Dad is pretty old now and I worry about his health. My mother is quite a few years younger. Dad wasn't all that handsome, but my mother was a knockout. She still is; she's one of those ageless women who will be beautiful until she dies. They're an odd couple... rather like Beauty and the Beast."

"Hmm... maybe so, but the end result of their union is quite enchanting," he said softly, lifting his wine glass in my direction in a silent toast.

"Thank you, kind sir," I smiled. "So, tell me about your family, Horatio."

He lowered his wine glass, gazing at it as he slowly fingered its stem. I sensed a sudden reluctance on his part, and he chose his words carefully. "I grew up in New York. My father was a laborer... construction work. My mother was a teacher. Briefly. Once my brother and I came along, the teaching ended."

"Really? A lot of women with children still continue to teach. Didn't she want to?"

"Oh, I think she did. She missed it. She was very gifted... loved books. She was always encouraging us – my brother and me – to read."

"If she missed teaching, why do you suppose she stopped?"

Horatio sighed. "My father didn't want her to continue. He felt her place was in the home, taking care of him... us."

I frowned. "That's pretty old fashioned."

His eyes slid away from mine. "Well, you'd have to know my father."

"Do you see them much, your mother and father?"

He shifted in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable. "No... they're dead. Many years, now," he said flatly.

I didn't know what to say. The conversation had clearly made him uncomfortable, and a sudden pall fell over us. I knew, of course, his brother was dead and about the scandal attached to him, but I hadn't known his parents were gone. His former easy manner had disappeared and he now looked grim. Wanting to divert his thoughts, I asked about his nephew.

"Ray, Junior?" he asked, his face lighting up. "He's a good kid. He got the best of both his parents: Yelina's gentleness, her intelligence... and my brother's courage and resourcefulness. The trick is taming the boy's rashness – unfortunately, he got that from my brother as well."

"He has you to help him with that," I offered.

"Yes... yes, he does. But the boy has a tough road before him." He looked pointedly at me. "You've heard the stories about my brother, no doubt."

I hesitated, but then decided honesty was best. "Yes, I have. What do you say about them?"

He looked at me intently and said, "I say they're bullshit. My brother wasn't dirty. I'm not sure what went down, but I don't believe for one minute he was dirty."

I leaned forward and took his hand in mine. "If you say he wasn't dirty, then I believe you."

He stared at me for several seconds, and then a sweet smile slowly traveled across his face. He gently squeezed my hand. "You know what I believe?"

"What?"

"I believe, Ms. Nevins, that I like you _very_ much."

* * *

After dinner, we shared a quiet moment on the balcony. It was a lovely clear night, and my eyes were caught by the stunning full moon overhead. We stood near the railing, looking up at the vivid moonlight, each lost in our own thoughts. There was something magical about the muted hush of the warm evening and the brightness of the glowing moon. Or maybe it was just being close to him that created the feeling of enchantment. Whatever it was, he seemed to sense it as well...

Suddenly, I felt an index finger travel slowly up my bare arm. That soft, gentle caress caused my blood to warm, but still I gazed out into the night.

"Rebecca," he said in a low voice, compelling me to look at him. When I did, he allowed his hand to cup my face as he turned it toward his. In pleasant confusion, I assumed a demure look and gazed at him through heavily fringed lashes. For once, I was my mother's daughter, giving him license to take the lead.

His eyes blazed queerly; in their depths I glimpsed a passion I had only guessed at and its presence provoked an answering response from me. Smoothly, his hand advanced to the nape of my neck and he pulled me suddenly toward him. "Rebecca... Rebecca," he murmured against my mouth, his ardent, deep tone thrilling me, and then kissed me with a gentle roughness.

At first the kiss was tentative, invitational... but soon he realized there were no barriers, and it quickly became something more. I liked the smell of him, so close to me – clean and citrusy – and the texture of his lips against mine. Tiny frissons of excitement passed through me when our tongues touched, and I felt waves of heat wash over me as he pressed his hard body full length against mine.

Moments later, he broke the kiss, but not the body contact – a good thing since by then I was clinging to him. His voice warm and moist against my ear, he whispered thickly, "Sweetheart?"

I heard the invitation in that simple endearment. Had I wanted to, I would have been unable to refuse. I liked the feel of his body against mine, the scent of him, the way his lips tasted. I liked the feel of his hands as he pressed my hips close to his own, demanding that I acknowledge his excitement and give full rein to my own.

No, had I wanted to deny him, I wouldn't have been able to – but there was no danger of that. I wanted him. I wanted his body and his mind and everything that made him who he was.

Again the voice sounded in my ear, raw and roughly tender. "Ma'am?"

My body – alive with Roman candles, shooting stars and Fourth of July celebrations – responded to his voice.

"Sir..." I whispered.

And so it began.

**To be continued.**


	3. Chapter 3

**REBECCA**

_(A/N ~ This chapter has its basis in the 3rd season episode, 'After the Fall', and you may recognize some lines of dialogue from the episode. My intention is to show what might have happened behind the scenes.)_

Chapter Three

Yes, that's how it began – a moonlight-drenched balcony and an embrace shared between two lovers on a warm summer's night.

The ending was different; no warmth, no moonlight, no passion. Just cool goodbyes said between two people as they faced each other in the harsh afternoon sunlight, seeing for the first time in stark relief all the things they'd never be able to comprehend about one other.

But let's not speak of endings... not yet. The beginning was too sweet. I'd rather remember that magical time – and the promise of that first night and so many others I shared with Horatio.

How he moved me!

No man before or since has stirred in me the emotions he did. He discovered a softness within me I never knew existed, and a concern for someone outside myself. For the first time, I began to see my life in terms of 'we' instead of 'me'.

We soon fell into a pattern of late night dinners at my place. There were strolls down city streets on weekends, and leisurely drinks at private, favored haunts of his, far removed from the people we knew and the demands of our jobs. Best of all were the lazy breakfasts on Sunday mornings after tender, love-filled nights.

Tenderness. That's how he won me. It's what broke me. I wasn't used to tenderness. It disarmed me, and it made me his. It also made me vulnerable as it encouraged something inside me to flower, something that had lain dormant until I'd met him.

When I was a young girl, my mother would tell me stories about China. One of those tales concerned the significance of the Chinese plum tree. Small and graceful, the plum tree is prized by its countrymen for its endurance and beauty. Deep in the throes of winter, the elegant little tree will burst into sudden bloom. Winters can sometimes be harsh and unyielding. The plum tree, with its profusion of colorful blossoms, reminds a winter-wearied people that spring is on its way. _Hold on, hold on! _it seems to murmur encouragingly.

In her bedroom, my mother keeps a framed print of one of those trees in flower. When I was a girl, I asked her why she kept the print above the bed she shared with my father. She smiled and said it served as a lesson that beauty survives quietly, lying in wait to surprise us, and that we must be willing to embrace it when it finally appears. Just as I will never forget the sight of those vivid blossoms against delicate snow-covered branches, I will also never forget my mother's wise words: _Remember, Rebecca, there can be undetected beauty hiding in the darkest of times, in the unlikeliest of places, just waiting for an opportunity to flower._

Until I had encountered Horatio's tenderness, my heart was much like the plum tree before its wintry bloom. I began to see that my life had been one of unawareness, lived in the shadows of cool indifference. My career was everything. It consumed me. But his sweetly murmured 'Rebecca' and the leisurely explorations of my body called forth something new in me... My heart, too long encased in icy self-sufficiency, began to open like the plum blossom, embracing the sunlight while surrounded by a mantle of snow.

_Tell me, Rebecca... tell me, sweetheart... tell me what you want_, he'd whisper in the enveloping darkness, his husky voice traveling like warmed honey through my veins, his hands and words making me helpless. And so I would. I'd tell him. I'd tell him everything.

He was my opportunity to flower.

Laying in his arms after passion was spent, my head resting against his chest and hearing, feeling the soft beating of his heart – it became everything to me. I loved the sweet vibration of his voice rumbling seductively against my ear. I craved the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. I grew to desire the way his hands would stroke my hair possessively while he'd murmur my name. He made love to me with authority – and for once in my life, I relinquished control. It was, as I said, the tenderness, the gentleness that destroyed my defenses.

Don't misunderstand: he was strong. He wanted me and wasn't tentative about it. But there was beneath the strength and passion a sweetness that drew an answering generosity from me. And something else... something I was surprised to learn existed within me. The desire to please and protect. I longed to keep him safe. Safe?

Don't laugh! Yes, I know... the idea of anyone needing to protect the cool and biting Horatio Caine seems amusing. But that's how it was. Sometimes, in the inky blackness of the night's early hours, that time of evening when the world seems very quiet, I'd sense in him a feeling of loneliness. That's how he always seemed to me, even in our closest moments: a man alone.

And there was something else. A hint of desperation. He seemed to be a man on the run. I never did quite understand what he was running from... perhaps it was himself.

I don't think he much liked the hours of the night. He'd fall asleep for brief snatches of time, only to awaken with a start.

"Horatio," I'd ask softly in the velvety darkness, "are you okay?"

He'd just gather me closer and whisper roughly into my hair, "Fine... I'm fine."

But he wasn't. Later I'd learn why.

I wonder if he ever thinks of that? How he'd hold me close, seeking comfort. I wonder if he ever remembers shared confidences and the tenderness of soft, quiet nights?

Does he experience regret?

God knows I do.

* * *

I grew to love him. We never said the words. I never said the words.

But what is love if not the desire to protect? To sacrifice for the well-being of another person?

My mother would understand. My early childhood lessons in self-effacement came back to me during those few months with Horatio. I was happy to put his interests before my own. This was the way of my beautiful Chinese mother. I had watched her during her years as wife to my father. Always she suggested, deferred, made things beautiful for him. It was her way, and the way of her mother... and her mother before her.

At one time I scoffed at these old notions - in fact, I took offense and ran from them. I would be my own person! I was my father's daughter, strong-willed and self-centered... but without even trying, Horatio softened the harsh edges of my personality. For once, I began to consider the needs of someone else. It was – for me – a new experience.

Yes, the gentleness broke me... much in the same way a wise, perceptive trainer breaks the skittish, self-willed horse. By touch, by voice, by manner. I grew to care, to look for ways to please him... to prove my passion for him.

He was quickly becoming the world to me, and I'd do just about anything to prove it to him.

An opportunity soon arose.

* * *

One busy morning my assistant popped her head into my office. "Rebecca, I just heard something I think you'll want to know," she said. The look on her face was serious as she closed the door softly behind her. "A suit is being filed in Civil court against an officer... police brutality. The guy says the officer roughed him up pretty badly."

Puzzled, I just looked at her. "So what does this have to do with me? Sounds like a case for IAB to look into."

She nodded. "Exactly."

"So?"

"So the officer... it's Lieutenant Caine."

Baffled, I stared at her. "You can't be serious... Horatio?"

She began to tell me about a lowlife named Ramsey – Doug Ramsey – who claimed Horatio used unnecessary force to subdue him and whose attorney was filing charges against the department.

There was no doubt in my mind that Horatio could handle himself, and if called to answer physically wouldn't hesitate to do so. He had the instincts of a lion as well as the courage. And in spite of the gentleness he shared with me, only a fool would doubt he was a tough man. But not for a minute did I believe that he would arbitrarily rough up a suspect. It wasn't his style. He wasn't stupid.

Still, I was concerned. An officer accused of using excessive force could have his career derailed. It was nothing to take lightly.

"Pam, I've got to go out for a bit," I said as soon as the woman stopped speaking.

She didn't ask where I was going... she seemed to understand.

* * *

Walking down the corridor, headed for Horatio's office, I was stopped by Rick Stetler.

Stetler was an annoying man, and carried about him a strong element of sleaze. I disliked him, and I wasn't alone in that sentiment. There was just something about him. He tried too hard. From his appearance – the too-perfectly coiffed hair, and the suits that tried too hard to look more expensive than they were – to his unctuous insincerity, he reeked of dissatisfaction and jealousy. It was not a winning combination.

Added to this was his irritating way of suddenly popping up out of nowhere in the worst of situations and offering a greeting of fake concern. Rick was a master in the game of passive-aggressive behavior.

"Hello, Counselor," he said, suddenly appearing at my side, matching his stride to mine. "What judicial matter brings you our way today?"

I glanced over and noticed his sly eyes watching me. He had the look of a starved cat hoping to catch a mouse for dinner. "Sergeant," I acknowledged, not answering his question.

I watched the nasty smile that suddenly appeared on his face. "Oh, you must be here about Horatio... I suppose you've heard he roughed up a person of interest... the victim is filing charges. Here to warn him, perhaps?"

With difficulty I held my tongue and increased my pace. Unfortunately, Stetler increased his as well, and continued to walk with me. "That's right," he said, feigning sudden remembrance, "you and the good lieutenant... You're an item now, aren't you? Well, I'm happy that Horatio seems to have found someone... keeps him out of my business."

I stopped abruptly and turned to look at him. "_Your_ business?"

"It's no secret that I'm seeing his sister-in-law."

"And?"

"And that your _boyfriend_ has had trouble dealing with that. Maybe now you can keep him... occupied."

I could feel my temper rising. Yelina Salas was a sore subject with me. While I'd never let Stetler know it, I did worry about Horatio's feelings for his sister-in-law. I wondered if the stories were true... Did he love her at one time? Did he still care? Was there room in his heart for _me_?

Resolutely I pushed the worries aside, refusing to rise to the bait. Whatever Rick saw in my face apparently disappointed him. He was hoping to wound me. _No blood in the water today, my friend_, I thought nastily. _It's what you hoped for, wasn't it? To make yourself feel better at my expense?_

I made myself smile at him. "Don't worry, Sergeant, I do my best to keep Horatio occupied. The question is whether you can do the same for Ms. Salas."

_Ah! That did the trick!_ I watched with satisfaction as the smarmy smile left his face, only to be replaced with something more sinister. "You'd best warn your boyfriend, Rebecca... If the accusations of brutality have any truth to them, I'll be forced to take action and he'll be in for a lot of trouble."

"Truth... when did you ever deal in truth?" I asked, my brows raised.

He frowned. "Just remember what I said... a lot of trouble."

I watched him walk away. Slowly, my temper cooled while my concern for Horatio deepened. He'd once told me Stetler was a formidable enemy. It was easy to see he hated Horatio. Why such enmity? All because of Yelina? Somehow, I didn't think so... there had to be more to it than that.

A few moments later, I caught Horatio outside his office.

"Hey, you got a minute?" I asked softly, smiling at him.

Surprised, his eyes warmly met mine. "Always."

Unsure how to begin, I said, "Got word of a case over in Civil that you need to know about... Doug Ramsey."

He frowned slightly. "I arrested him this morning."

"On a rooftop, right."

He sighed. "So, the story is traveling."

"He's filing a lawsuit against you and the department – assault, excessive use of force."

"Excessive use of force," he repeated, shaking his head. "The man tried to take my head off."

This time I was the one who sighed. "His lawyer claims he has a shoulder injury. His doctor backs it up."

It was easy to see Horatio was irritated. "I don't care what his attorney says," he replied shortly. "I know what happened."

"Look, I believe you... I'm just suggesting you lay low for a while, see how this plays out."

He just looked at me. _Mr. Integrity._ I could tell my words were having no effect.

"I can't do that," he said.

I tried again, hoping to make him see the sense in what I was suggesting. "Horatio, police brutality is serious business."

"So is murder," he said, putting an end to the discussion.

I wanted to shake him for a moment, try to make him see how this could blow up in his face, but what was the point? He would please himself. I could see that.

"Okay... I get your point... It's just..."

"Just?" he asked, tilting his head slightly as he studied me.

"I care... I'm worried about you," I replied softly, searching his eyes.

He softened immediately, and a warm smile suddenly tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, his voice as light as a caress.

_No, thank you, sir,_ I thought, wanting to touch him, bring him closer. _Thank you for looking at me that way! _Instead, I settled for briefly touching his wrist, and then started to turn away.

"Rebecca..." he said suddenly, stopping me. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Depends... what do you need?"

"Isaac Greenhill..."

"Judge Greenhill?"

"The same... can you check into his case history for me... tell me if anything seems odd?"

I was startled. Greenhill was a tough judge, and not someone to trifle with. "Horatio, what's this all about?"

"Maybe nothing," he said evasively. "Look, if you'd rather not..."

I hesitated while he watched me. I was a rule follower; Chinese women are good at that, following the rules. But this man I was in love with – he was on to something, and I didn't think rules were going to get in his way.

"I'll see what I can do," I said.

* * *

Back in my office I thought long and hard about Horatio's request. It wasn't like me to go out on a limb when it came to my career. I was determined that I would one day be the State's leading prosecutor, and I was committed to doing whatever it took to achieve that goal.

Judge Greenhill had always made me uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in a way that few men did. It wasn't just that he was powerful and had important connections in the community. It was the way he'd look me up and down when I'd appear in the courtroom in front of him. His look was one of appraisal – and not in the professional sense. I would experience an uneasy feeling that he was deciding in his mind what I looked like without my clothes.

I remember one time in particular... he'd called me into his chambers for a private conference about a case we'd brought before him. It was just Greenhill and me, and it was after hours. He'd started out fine, very business-like, but at one point he pushed the papers aside and scrutinized me.

* * *

_"Well, Ms. Nevins, you've been with the State's Attorney's Office for... how many months now?"_

_"Twenty-four, sir."_

_He nodded. "Yes, and you've made a name for yourself already. You're a smart woman, handle yourself well in the courtroom."_

_Pleased, I smiled. "Thank you, Judge. I appreciate hearing that..."_

_He started to hand my file on the case back to me. As I went to take it from him, he pulled it just out of my reach._

_"Tell me... do you handle yourself as well outside the courtroom?" he asked, a sly grin appearing suddenly on his face._

_I was taken aback by the sudden change in his manner and felt the hair rise on the back of my neck. "I'm sorry, sir... I don't think I understand you."_

_"Oh, I'm sure you do. You're an intelligent woman... and an attractive one. You have a bright future before you... I could make it brighter..."_

_I felt the bitter taste of acid begin to rise upward in my throat. I was no innocent, but I was still disgusted. I aimed to be the State's leading prosecutor, but not on my back! I was smart – and I could do it without the favors he was offering... favors that came with too high a price tag. I felt my father's brash, honesty take over._

_"Are you propositioning me, sir? I'd like to think I misunderstood what you just said..."_

_He studied me for a moment and his brow darkened. He knew and I knew: he'd misread me. It was a fatal error. If he pressed me, I'd file a noisy suit against him. I'd do it for my own self-respect. And I'd do it knowing it would probably jettison any possibility of future advancement in this town. But I took a chance. I gambled on his desire to avoid damaging publicity to himself and his family._

_And I won._

_"Ms. Nevins, I think our discussion about the defendant is concluded. I appreciate your diligence - it's a solid case." He pushed the file at me, ready to have me leave. "That will be all, thank you."_

_I took a deep breath and left his chambers. It was the last private conference he held with me._

* * *

Thinking back on the judge, I was concerned about Horatio's request. I felt I'd taken a big chance when I called Greenhill on his proposition. I guess I was still pretty surprised that I emerged from that small battle unscathed. But a second battle? I wasn't so sure. If Greenhill learned I was the person snooping through his case history, what would he do? It was his connections that bothered me. They could break me.

I was tempted to call Horatio and explain why I didn't feel comfortable looking into Greenhill's record.

But, then, I didn't. I couldn't. I suppose I had it too bad for Horatio. I wanted to please him, help him if I could. I'd just have to be smart. Careful. Not leave a trail. I could do that.

I would do that.

For Horatio.

Besides, he must have had a reason for asking me. He knew my history, I was sure of it. He was too smart not to have known which cases I'd been involved with, and so I was sure he wanted my insight because of my experience in Greenhill's courtroom. A warm feeling came over me as I remembered the soft look he gave me. He was a good man, Horatio. He'd know I could be in danger professionally; he'd never do anything that would hurt me.

That's what I thought then...

Before I realized just how _much_ a good man can hurt a woman.

* * *

I spent most of the afternoon researching Greenhill's case history. With the exception of two cases, it was relatively dull. It was one of the two cases, however, that particularly concerned me.

Concerned me? That was putting it mildly. In fact, what I pieced together totally frightened me. If what I suspected was true, to have the judge discover I was looking into his past would endanger more than my professional life.

My thoughts circled around the case in question. The irony was that it was one of the cases in which I appeared before Greenhill. At the time, nothing seemed untoward about the judge's behavior. Was Horatio's request causing me to conjure up phantoms where none existed?

I suddenly experienced the keenest desire to see him. If pragmatism was needed to exorcise overwrought imaginings, Horatio was the man to provide it. I would tell him what I learned – and let him sift through it and laugh at my fears.

As it turned out, he didn't laugh at them.

* * *

From the look on his face when I finally found him, he was not having a good afternoon. I later discovered why – Stetler had been raking him over the coals about Ramsey's allegations of excessive force. Still, he smiled when he saw me.

"Get something?" he asked.

"I did," I replied, handing him a file marked 'Isaac Greenhill'.

He looked up from the file. "Judge Greenhill's case history," he remarked.

I nodded. "For the last five years he has been doing nothing but calendar except for two high profiles – Stan the Cat Burglar, who we already know about, and the Surfside Strangler."

"Right... the Surfside Strangler, the truck driver who killed prostitutes..."

"Eight of them."

"Buried them in the Everglades," he mused.

"In a peat-bog to be specific."

He looked at me. "To preserve their bodies."

"Yeah,"I replied, a shiver going through me, "the creep liked it that way... liked to go to the burial sites and visit his prizes."

He paused, considering. "So what you're saying is that if Greenhill dumped her out in the bog..."

"It will be blamed on the Surfside Stangler," I finished.

"Because the dumpsites were never publicized."

"That's right, Horatio... they were even suppressed in the courtroom."

"So only a handful of people know the location... starting with – ?"

Quickly thinking aloud, I said, "Well, besides the judge, there was the public defender who moved to Brazil last year, the assistant prosecutor who moved to South Carolina..."

"Right. And the prosecutor... who was the prosecutor?"

I stared at him. Could he not have known?

"Me," I said quietly. "I thought you knew that."

The information seemed to bring him up short. He looked uncomfortable as he stared at me. "I did _not_ know that." He was silent for a moment, continuing to look at me. "You are really sticking your neck out here..."

"I'm aware of that," I replied, meeting his eyes, worried for myself, worried for him. "Judge Greenhill is dangerous and very connected."

"But if he's involved, it shouldn't matter, right?"

Was he serious? Was he really that naive? No... just courageous and determined to do the right thing. Again came the unbidden thought: _Mr. Integrity._

I sighed. "I'm just saying be careful."

Something flickered behind those bright blue eyes. Before I had time to define it, he replied, "You too."

I looked away, realizing all too well what a serious thing it was to cross this powerful judge.

"Rebecca?"

When I didn't look at him, he touched my chin with his forefinger and turned it toward him, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Rebecca, I want you to be very careful, okay? Does anyone else know you were looking at Greenhill?"

"No... I kept it to myself, did the legwork myself."

"Okay, good. Now, sweetheart, do this for me, okay? Go back to the office and forget about all this. I'll handle it. I don't want you worrying about it... but I do want you to be careful." He hesitated, and then continued. "If you feel... threatened... if anything seems strange... I want you to call me. Will you do that?"

Horatio's words frightened me. "Do you think I'm in danger?"

He sought to reassure me. "No... not really. Greenhill has no reason to suspect you of looking into his background, but why take chances? Be aware. If something seems off, call me. Don't question yourself... just make the call."

I swallowed my fear and nodded.

And to think I had gone to him thinking he'd laugh away my wild imaginings. No such luck.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I kept myself busy, but couldn't help looking over my shoulder periodically. I found myself watching my colleagues, wondering if they suspected I'd been chasing down Greenhill's case history. At one point my assistant handed me a cup of coffee which I managed to spill all over my desk.

"Good grief, Rebecca... what's the matter with you today? You're really jumpy!" she said, helping me to sop up the liquid as it seeped into my paperwork.

"Sorry," I said, annoyed that I was allowing my nerves to get the best of me.

"Maybe you need to cut back on the caffeine, huh?" she asked innocently.

I had to laugh. "Yes, maybe that's it."

After she left for the day, I glanced out the window. It was beginning to get dark. It occurred to me that it would be unwise to walk alone to my car in the darkness. I began to shove some papers into my briefcase when my cell phone started to beep.

It was Horatio.

"How are you?" he asked. "Are you home yet?"

Sheepishly I admitted I hadn't yet left the office, realizing that hanging out after everyone had left was probably not what he meant when he said to be careful. "But I'm packing up now," I added hastily, hoping to ward off a lecture.

"It's okay, Rebecca. We got our man."

Stunned, I stopped handling the papers and sat down. "You got Greenhill?"

"We got Ratner."

"Ratner?" Now I really was stunned. Judge Ratner had a sterling reputation. How could he be involved?

"Seems the good judge shared both a law clerk as well as a prostitute with Greenhill."

"Ratner with a prostitute? He seems such a straight-arrow."

"Not so much as it turns out. During one of his trysts with the girl, he accidentally killed her... and had his law clerk dump the body. It's a long story."

He was quiet for a moment and then said softly, "You know, I really appreciated you putting your neck out there for me... you put yourself in what could have been a very bad place... personally and professionally. Why did you do that?"

"Because you needed the information, and I knew I could get it for you. You needed me."

"I appreciate that..."

I paused. "Don't you know how it is, Horatio? I'd do... I'd do almost anything you asked of me."

After a moment, I heard a tone of uncertainty enter his voice. "There is, um, one thing you could do for me... I need someone I can talk to..."

"Problems?"

"Let's just say I could use a friend... Someone I can trust."

"You can trust me. Always."

"I believe that, sweetheart," he said quietly. "Do you think I might stop by this evening?"

"This evening... or any evening. The door is always unlocked for you, Horatio."

"Nine, then?"

"Nine it is. I'll be waiting. You can depend on it."

**To Be Continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**REBECCA**

Chapter Four

"Lady Counselor," he greeted, as he stood outside my doorway that night.

In spite of the light, playful greeting, I knew immediately that something was wrong. He looked tense, and - new for him - indecisive. Something was weighing heavily on him; I could see it in his slumping posture.

"I come bearing spirits," he said, brandishing with a flourish the bottle of wine he'd been holding. His teasing smile suddenly became strained and he shrugged his shoulders. "Hopefully better than my own."

Throwing me a complicated look, he added, "I'm not at my best this evening... would you like to turn me out and try for a better companion?"

I walked toward him and in one fluid movement took the wine from him and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Bad day, huh?"

"Had better, that's for sure."

"Tell you what," I whispered, allowing another light kiss to touch the corner of his mouth, "let's see if I can make it better, okay?"

"You already have," he replied, and this time he pulled me close, allowing his lips to linger on mine.

When we broke apart, I closed the door behind him.

"That was a nice way to begin the evening," he said softly. He caressed my cheek fleetingly and then walked toward the center of the room. His nose wrinkled appreciatively for a moment and he looked around the apartment. "Did you make dinner? Something smells good. I, um, didn't know you planned to make dinner."

"It's nothing fancy. Just something warming in the oven. I'd hazard a guess that you stayed late at the lab, rushed home to grab a shower and then immediately headed out – am I right?"

He smiled. "Very nearly."

"So... no food?"

"Nope."

He looked at his watch. "I'm sorry, Rebecca... it's after nine... I didn't want you to go to all this trouble." For a moment, I thought he was going to turn and offer an excuse for leaving, but then he seemed to settle down.

"Don't be silly," I said, watching him. "You know, you look really tired. Did you eat anything at all today?"

He seemed preoccupied. "Hm? Oh... eat... yes, I had something at lunch. I really hadn't thought much about eating until now."

I frowned. Something really was _off_ with him. He didn't look well. Not only was he preoccupied, he seemed anxious. _About what?_ Confused, I gestured toward the bottle of wine. "Why don't you open that up while I prepare a couple of plates for us."

While trying to gauge his strange mood, I searched for a topic of conversation that might lighten things. "You know, Lieutenant," I said casually, "I enjoy cooking. I find it relaxing. It takes me outside of myself... I work out all my thorny problems while slicing and dicing. Best therapy in the world after a stressful, complicated day."

He looked up from the wine bottle and chuckled. "Mm... maybe I should take up cooking."

I grinned. "Yes, maybe you should."

He seemed glad to have a task to perform, and I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he opened and then poured two glasses from the bottle.

It wasn't so much that he looked unwell, I decided. It was something else, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. I wondered if I should just come out and ask him what was wrong, and in those brief seconds a battle waged inside my heart between my father's natural bluntness and my mother's quiet patience.

_Rebecca_, said the voice of my mother, _just listen and watch. He'll tell you what he needs when the time comes. Don't push. Sometimes the best conversation is the one conducted in silence... a woman can learn a lot about a man just by being quiet and listening. _

I took the glass of wine he offered and raised it to my lips, and wondered what it was he needed from me. Whatever it was, I wanted to provide it. Taking my mother's words to heart, I decided not to push. I would wait, allowing him time to decide which of his secrets needed my confidence. I smiled at him and slowly sipped the dark maroon-colored liquid.

And I waited.

* * *

He was in a strange mood throughout dinner. He made all the right responses during conversation, but a rueful expression once or twice crossed his face. It was then that he'd glance down at his hands, and a lapse would occur between sentences. He picked at his food. He saw that I noticed his lack of appetite and he smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Rebecca. I'm not doing justice to the very good dinner you prepared."

I reached across the table and rested my hand lightly upon his. "What's wrong, Horatio?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, sliding his hand out from beneath mine and reached for the wine goblet. Instead of drinking from it, he began to play with its stem, his brow deeply furrowed. I wasn't hurt that he'd taken his hand from mine, realizing it had less to do with me and more to do with what was troubling him.

But what was it that so distressed him? He'd wrapped up the case, had Ratnor arrested. And hadn't the fake charges initiated by Doug Ramsey been dropped once it became clear that the worm had caused his own injury?

My brain went round and round as I watched him begin once again to pick at the food in front of him. His eyes refused to meet mine. "I'm just tired... more tired than I realized, I guess." He tried a few more bites and then put the fork down.

"I shouldn't have come... I thought..."

"What?" I prodded gently. "What did you think?"

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then stopped. He looked at me mutely.

My mother was right – there are times when the best conversations are held in silence, but this was not one of those times. I knew Horatio was desperate to talk to me about something and yet he seemed unable to begin. I decided it was time to take a page from my father's book and come right out and say what was on my mind.

"Horatio, it's clear that something is wrong. When we spoke earlier today, you said you needed a friend. Well, you have one... sitting right here in front of you. Tell me what's wrong, _friend_.

"It can't be the case – you got Ratnor, right?"

"Right."

"Then – ?"

"It's Stetler," he said abruptly, rising from his seat. "Look, let me help you clear all this away. You're finished, right?"

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly began to gather the plates from the table. I stopped him.

"Why don't you take that glass of wine with you and find a seat in the living room. I'll finish up and join you in a few minutes."

He looked surprised but then shrugged, making a funny little grimace. Picking up the glass, he headed toward the other room.

"And, Horatio?"

He paused, turning to look at me.

"Be ready to talk to me, okay?"

He smiled bleakly. "Okay... _friend_."

* * *

By the time I'd finished clearing everything away, I discovered him sitting in a comfortable old chair that didn't really fit in with the rest of the apartment's furnishings. I kept it for my father's visits. It was, to be frank, an eyesore. But what it lacked in beauty, it made up for in comfort, and whenever my parents would visit, my father would take up residence in that big, soft chair. And while I scoffed at its lack of beauty and teased my father that it was only at his insistence that I kept it, on rainy nights I could be found there, my knees curled up close and a blanket over my shoulders, reading a favorite book.

Perhaps it was my father's love of that old chair that made Horatio's presence in it so poignant to me. He was slumped against its cushions, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. Lines of tension radiated outward from the corners of those eyes, and there were deepening grooves on either side of his mouth that I hadn't noticed before. It was the weariness that suddenly aged him.

But I had the restorative for that – he only had to ask.

While he rested with closed eyes, I quietly circled the room, dimming the harsh electric lighting and substituting it with warm glowing candles. Soon the soft amber light lit up the shadows of the room, bringing Horatio's resting figure into stark relief. During all of this, I thought he'd been sleeping but as I turned to look at him, I saw his eyes were on me, following me as I moved about the room.

He straightened in the chair. "I'm not very stimulating company tonight, am I?"

"You've been better," I said gently, kneeling in front of him. "But you don't have to put on an act for me. You're upset. Tell me... what has Stetler done?"

"He says I got a pass in the Ramsey matter."

I frowned. "He's an idiot. Why listen to him? The evidence indicated Ramsey injured his shoulder purposely. The charges were dropped accordingly. How could you be given a pass for something you hadn't done?"

He was silent for a moment, looking into my eyes. "You know, Rebecca, Rick is right... in a way."

"I don't understand – how can you say that?"

He sighed. "I was angry with Ramsey when he went for my head. Who knows? If he hadn't been easily subdued... if Eric hadn't been nearby... who knows? Maybe I would have banged him repeatedly against the wall. God knows I wanted to. Too many times of late, I really want to..."

"Wanting to and actually doing so are two different things. Come on, Horatio... it's not enough to be a saint – you have to _think_ like one too?"

He laughed suddenly, genuinely amused. "Saint? Trust me, Rebecca, I'm no saint." The laughter was fleeting, and his expression grew dark. "No... not a saint."

"Why are you so upset by something Stetler says? You know he hates you. He's eaten up with hatred." I looked at him sharply. "Why is that? Why does he have such animosity toward you?"

He looked away. "It's... complicated."

Complicated. _Complicated as in Yelina Salas?_ I wondered, again struck by how vulnerable I felt whenever my thoughts drifted her way. Complicated.

I banished the unhappy thought and forced my attention back to him. "Tell me why his words bothered you so much."

Again he sighed. "He thinks I need a psych evaluation. He's threatened me with an appointment with Support Services."

That piece of news brought me up short. "A psych evaluation? I don't understand... can he do that?"

A cold smile appeared on his face. "He can. In fact, he has... But good old Rick... While he has the authority to make me go, I don't think he'll push it. He has his own reputation to worry about."

I considered asking him what he meant by that, but decided to leave it for the moment. I was mystified at the thought of Horatio requiring counseling sessions. _For what?_

He must have guessed what I was thinking because he started to explain. "Stetler thinks I haven't dealt with some personal issues... that I'm a powder keg waiting to ignite..."

I continued to watch him, unsure what he was saying. He hesitated for several seconds and then continued. "Earlier this year... one of my team went down. Tim... Tim Speedle." His voice seemed to choke a bit as he repeated the name.

"I remember," I said softly, "it was a jewelry store shooting."

"Yes." He leaned forward in the chair and rubbed his hands on either side of his temples, as if trying to rub the memory away. "Rick's been a thorn in my side since then. He keeps at me about it... wants me to talk to someone about the shooting... about how I've been affected by losing a member of my team." He lapsed into a momentary silence while I studied him.

Unexpectedly, he laughed shortly. "Speed was more than a _member _of my team... he was bright, iconoclastic... did things his own way. He had a real grasp for CSI work. Intuitive. But... _Christ_."

He stopped abruptly.

"Horatio?"

He raised his head for a moment. "He, um... he was sloppy... Not about his work. He was never sloppy in the lab. But he was lazy about other things... his gun... maintenance..."

He lowered his head again, as if his words somehow betrayed his friend.

I couldn't see the expression on his face. He was again looking down at the carpet, again massaging his temples. I experienced a sudden desire to grab his wrists and make him stop the repeated movement against the sides of his head. For some reason, it frightened me... I was used to a Horatio Caine who was always in control... who was this sad, lost man sitting in my living room?

"Well, have you?" At my words he looked up at me. "Dealt with it, I mean."

His eyes filled with pain and he slumped back against the cushions. "I keep waiting for the dreams to subside."

_The dreams. Is that what this was all about? Dreams that too often forced him to awaken in the night and reach for me? Was it Speedle who haunted his dreams?_

I rose to my feet when I saw his eyes float past me, and fix on something over my shoulder... something I couldn't see. An unexpected chill went through me and I longed for the comfort of a simple task. I again began to walk about the room, and light several more candles, wondering whether he'd speak again about the dreams.

I didn't have long to wait. As I paused over one of the lit candles, watching its flame quiver and cast bouncing shadows against the wall, Horatio said softly, "All these candles, Rebecca... all these candles... it's like a confessional." His words were tinged with irony; why, then, did I find them so heartrending?

"Shall I confess to you?" he asked abruptly, his voice remote and strange.

I stood as though cast in stone, not moving, not facing him. "Is that why you came here? To confess? To receive absolution?"

"I came because... because you took a risk for me today. You didn't have to do it. It meant something to me... still means something. I feel... safe... because of it. Am I safe, Rebecca?" asked the hushed voice.

"You're safe," I whispered. "You can tell me..."

He then began to speak in a quiet monotone, his voice completely expressionless.

"You know... it's always the same... I'm in the jewelry store... it's in slow motion."

My skin began to crawl as his steady, toneless voice began its journey through the corridor of a recurring nightmare. As I listened to him recount the events from his dreams, I began to experience the unsettling feeling that there was someone – or something – in the room with us. The thought made me cringe, and I faced down the silly imagining. Yet his voice... it was so eerie. My back was toward him so that I could not see him as he spoke, and so the dispassionate tones of his voice took on the qualities of a ghostly presence, weaving itself in and out of the candle flames... disembodied... without emotion... lost...

I listened, rapt, unable to move, as he continued.

"I withdraw my weapon. I brandish it. I squeeze the trigger and –

"And nothing. Nothing happens. It jams."

I heard the misery in his voice and the depth of it finally freed me, and I turned to look at him. The ghosts were gone... it was just Horatio. Sad, regretful... hurting. "Yours didn't and Speedle's did," I replied, trying to chase away fantastical imaginings and inject practicality back into the moment.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. There was a slight sheen of perspiration on his pale face. He looked at me briefly, and then quickly turned away, his movement awkward, so unlike his usual grace.

"There's nothing you could have done," I said, hurting for him. _Mr. Integrity... blaming himself for things he had no control over..._

He leaned forward in the chair and extended his hands, examining his palms... almost as if he expected to see blood on them. "I wish it felt that way."

Unable to keep my distance any longer, I went to him and sat on the edge of the table in front of him. I placed my hands gently under his and I, too, gazed at them: gentle, loving hands that so often brought me joy; strong, capable hands that labored to keep a city safe.

I saw no blood on those hands, but I saw pain in the eyes that looked suddenly into mine. Lost, uncertain... child-like. Whose eyes were those? Those frightened eyes did not belong to the Horatio Caine I knew.

_Let me make it better, let me make it better, let me make it better... _this was the mantra that forcefully and quickly threaded itself through my heart as he gazed at me.

I was captured by the distress in those eyes, unable to look away. And then, just one simple word, but the need behind it spoke volumes. "Ma'am?"

I replied softly, "Sir..." and rose, holding out my hand to him.

Yes, as my mother once said, there are times when conversations are handled best in silence. This, now, was one of those times.

I beckoned toward the bedroom. He slowly stood and took my hand, following me. We reached the door and the soft amber light from within cast our silhouettes against the wall near the bed. There was something poignant about those shadows.

Childhood memories of visits with my grandfather to magic lantern shows suddenly danced across my brain. Long ago days in San Francisco's old Chinatown district and recollections of the little girl who held her grandfather's hand while watching as though bewitched the graceful images projected on the flimsy screen. Shadowy images of mystery and beauty, captivating for what they disclosed as much as for what they kept hidden.

I stared at the wall near my bed. The darkened form of my hand was held close in that of the shadowy man with the weary posture. _Who was that man?_ Surely that shadowed image of spent irresolution did not belong to the strong, decisive lieutenant that I saw daily, the one who pursued justice at any cost – irrevocably and absolutely.

Perhaps it is only in shadows that we get true glimpses of one another. I realized the truth of this in a moment of acute clarity, staring at my own silhouette, a surprising image of vulnerability, leaning closely to the figure next to my own... needing... wanting... longing...

Could that shadow be me? I, who prided myself on my self-sufficiency and strength?

Yes, who we really are is best glimpsed in shadows. To see the truth in full light would be humbling and too difficult, perhaps, to bear.

Suddenly, I heard Horatio whisper, "Rebecca." He stopped, hesitant to enter the room. I turned my attention from the shapes on the wall and looked at him.

"Rebecca," he began again, his voice low and urgent. "Perhaps I should go..."

Surprised, I studied him, noting the tension around his mouth. "Do you want to?"

"No... yes." He stopped, confused. "No, not really, but..."

I watched him, waiting for him to continue.

"Perhaps you've had enough gloom for tonight," he said finally. His eyes, again guarded, drifted away from mine.

"Why would you say that? Don't you know how much I want you here?"

"Can't imagine why... a moody man forcing you to share his nightmares. I'm sorry about that. I was selfish – but I needed someone to talk to... I needed..." he broke off, shaking his head.

"You needed a _friend_. Someone who cares," I remarked softly, still holding his hand close in mind. "And you've found that – in me."

"Yes, I've found it," he whispered, "but I'm not sure I deserve it."

"Oh, Horatio! Who deserves anything in this life? Life just _is. _People just _are. _There is no rhyme or reason." I frowned, desperate to understand him, to make him understand me. "Let's take what we've found together, something good, and let's enjoy it. You speak of being deserving... if anyone deserves anything good, my love, it would be you."

_There! _Unexpectedly and unanticipated, the sweet endearment escaped my lips, and it caused his startled blue eyes to meet mine.

"Rebecca, don't say you love me, sweetheart," he said rapidly, his voice urgent. "You don't want to say that... don't even think it!"

That was not the response I wanted. Hurt, defensive, my own walls rose up around me. "I'm sorry," I said, dropping his hand and starting to move away.

He turned his body, blocking me from moving aside. "No... no... listen to me. It's not _you_. It's just... I'm not ready for this... for this _sharing_. It took everything I had inside to tell you about... about Speed and the nightmares. Rebecca, I'm not used to sharing... I need time to process this." He saw his words did little to lessen the pain in my heart, and a genuine sadness came over his face.

"I'm sorry – I don't want to hurt you. I just need... time."

He looked so remorseful that some of the hurt lessened, and in that instant I made the decision to move away from my injured feelings. Again my mother's words rang in my head: _Listen closely, Rebecca. Speak little, and listen closely – and observe. The truth can be found in observation._

Stepping past my own feelings, I studied him briefly. He was sincere in his worry that he'd hurt me. He was also still troubled.

"It's okay," I said softly. "It was just an endearment – like your use of 'sweetheart' – affectionate, but not binding."

He seemed relieved and some of the tension left him. "It's not that I don't care... it's just..."

"What? Just what, Horatio?"

His voice became so quiet that I had to strain to hear it in the silence of the room. "It's just I don't feel... worthy of being loved. I, um, I don't think I'm meant for it... for happiness."

"Horatio," I said miserably, "how can you believe that? You're a good man... one of the best."

His lips compressed into a thin line, and he seemed at a loss to put his thoughts into words. Finally, he remarked, "Happiness always seems elusive... as if I'm not destined for it. Maybe it's payback... karma."

That puzzled me. _Karma? What the hell was he talking about?_ It was apparent that he regretted the words as soon as they were spoken, and I felt the walls of his reserve begin to build themselves back in place. I refused to let that happen.

I reached out and gently stroked his rigid cheek. "Is that why you try so hard? Are you trying to make something right?"

He nodded. "But I can't," he whispered. "I never can."

"Speedle? But that wasn't your fault, Horatio," I said tenderly, smoothing the troubled lines at the corners of his eyes.

"Not just Speed... not just Speed. Others. I can't ever make it right."

"Yet you keep trying, don't you? You're fighting to make something right that you know you'll never be able to fix. Love, this will kill you in the end."

He nodded, but said nothing.

Understanding at last, I added, "It's what drives you, what makes you always do the right thing. But, my God, Horatio! At what cost? The nightmares? The separation from others? Is the price worth it?"

"We do the 'right thing', Rebecca, simply because it _is_ the right thing."

"Yes, yes... but you take it to extremes. You're letting it consume you. It's making impossible demands on you." The blue eyes stared at me, intent, as if looking for some sort of answer – some piece of wisdom that I didn't have. "You know, my brave and never-wavering lieutenant, sometimes, just sometimes, a little self-forgiveness is required. Sometimes... a little compromise."

I smoothed back the hair that had fallen over one eye. "You couldn't save Speed or those others you spoke of... but you can save yourself."

I moved closer. "I could help you... I could save you – if you let me.

"Let me," I whispered, "please let me..."

"I want to, Rebecca," replied the deep voice, rough with emotion, "God, I want to..." He reached out possessively, pulling me close, pressing the length of his body close to mine. There was a desperation in that embrace, a need to escape himself by joining with me. As he held me close, my eyes happened to glance over the top of his shoulder and I saw the play of the silhouettes against the dimly lit wall... two shadowy figures so close that they now merged into one.

After a moment, I moved away, and he stood still, watching me. Turning off the soft light, I took his hand in mine and led him into the sweet darkness.

TBC


End file.
